


somewhere only we know

by mistyviolin



Category: Splatoon
Genre: M!Agents, M/M, rated T for 8's imagination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 08:45:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15020930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyviolin/pseuds/mistyviolin
Summary: Agent 8 and Agent 3 have some downtime at Tentakeel Outpost. Agent 8 looks for ways to entertain himself.





	somewhere only we know

**Author's Note:**

> Guess what! I'm gay and so are these cephalopods. 
> 
> I always liked the thought of Agent 3 looking very serious and quiet but is really kind of an airhead, and Agent 8 as almost catlike in demeanor.

Bored. 

Bored, bored, bored. 

Agent 8 stops trying to make sense of the floating abyss that is Tentakeel Outpost and rolls from spread-eagle on his back to on his stomach with a huff. He and Agent 3 are stuck waiting for Marie and Agent 4 to come back from their lunch date, whatever that means, Marina and Pearl are busy reading off the stages like they always are, and Callie does as Callie does. 

He ponders on Callie a little more. The pop idol who almost betrayed Inkopolis because Octavio's shades were Gucci. 

A mysterious squid for sure. 

(Fo' shizzle, his brain annoyingly autocorrects. Stupid telephone. Stupid tartar sauce thing with its outdated slang.)

Unfortunately, Agent 8's brain forcefully ends that train of thought before he really starts thinking about the Deepsea Metro again. And so he is left with no thoughts to occupy him and must find external sources of entertainment. 

His gaze goes first to the snowglobe. Octavio looks like he's going to forcefeed him wasabi until his chemical composition is identical to allyl isothiocyanate, and then boil him so the consequent vapor can be used in fire alarms for deaf squids. 

Agent 8 cringes and looks away. Is there no easy way to explain to your century-old octo dad that a magic song changed your soul and made you defect to an objectively inferior society?

Unfortunately, the answer is no. 

The next object for Agent 8's scrutiny is the despondent shack that Marie probably pretends to live in so that Agent 4 thinks she's more humble and three-dimensional than she is. 

Even as he thinks it, he feels a pang of guilt. Agent 4 is not stupid and neither is Marie, and it is horribly single-minded of him to think Inklings are all shallow people (even if they have fierce competitions based on the viscosity of orange juice.)

He refocuses on the shack. It stares at him accusingly. He shrinks and looks away again, rolling onto his back as he stares upwards. 

Agent 3 is next. He is sitting on that dusty couch, engrossed in the television as he idly eats from a chip bag in his lap. Agent 8 ogles openly, taking note of his slightly wrinkled nose, the slight ever-present pout, the curve of his shoulders. 

Ah, thinks 8. He sees a little of 3's neck that isn't covered by his goofy turtleneck. 

He kind of wants to kiss it. It looks very soft. Would 3 mind? Would he freak out? Or would he make a sound of surprise, and lean against 8 with a fond smile, a hand on the back of his head, encouraging him to go farther-

Suddenly Agent 8 feels very hot in this skintight outfit. Why couldn't he get a loose comfortable outfit like 3 and 4, and actually like everyone else?

Though he had been the one to choose it, he supposes. He likes the way it feels, and how it looks on him, even if the damp smell of the subway never seems to stop clinging to him. 

"Are you sick?" comes 3's soft voice, and just like that Agent 8 is startled out of his reflective reverie. Agent 3 is looking down at the floor where Agent 8 has resumed his sprawled-out initial position. 

Confused, Agent 8 asks, "No, why? Do I look sick?" and puts a hand to his own forehead. He doesn't feel sick, but...

Agent 3 looks stumped for a minute as he tries to communicate his concern, gesturing vaguely between his own tentacles and cheeks. He settles for a blunt "Your face looks like your tentacles."

"I'm fine, Three, but you're lovely," chokes Agent 8. Agent 3 snickers, and 8 is captured by that toothy grin. 

Sharp teeth... 8 is reconsidering. Maybe he wants to be bit instead. 

He knows definitely that he wants attention, and who he wants it from. He crawls onto the couch and makes to invade 3's personal space, but loses his nerve and ends up perched on the edge instead. 

Agent 3 glances at him, amused but otherwise unmoved as he continues munching on those chips.

Oho! The chips are the only thing standing in 8's way, the blockade between him and 3's lap. He was a fool to not notice earlier. 

Slowly, Agent 8 snakes an arm out towards the chip bag, Three tilting the bag towards him wordlessly. 

In one fluid motion, 8 snatches the chip bag and twists midair so he lands face-up into 3's lap. 3 yelps with the unexpected collision, before adopting a very unimpressed face as he stares down at the snickering Octoling in his lap. 

"You could have just asked," grumbles 3 as he reaches down to gently pet behind 8's ear. 

8 does nothing but purr in response. Asking would take out all the fun.


End file.
